


Mordred Lives a Life of Never-ending Misery ft. Turnabout, AKA Fair Play

by Hatsage7



Series: Mordred and Saberfaces [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempted Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Singing, and it's extremely not fun, but Mordred does have something uncomfortably like a panic attack, kind of??? i wasn't trying to write it in that way, my oh my... how the turntables..., when you live in the same base as a manifestation of nursery rhymes, you get Ideas on how to repair your relationship with your son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsage7/pseuds/Hatsage7
Summary: Mordred always has a bad time, and believe it or not, it gets worse for her *after* nearly getting murdered. hooraaaaayyyyyyOR: the fic where Artoria tries to comfort Mordred after she gets hurt.Based on https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/72772941 (number 11/18)tw Panic Attacks. It's only at the beginning, but it's not a fun time.not quite a sequel to https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886077/chapters/62902873, but references it in a "blink and you'll miss it" way
Relationships: Mordred | Saber of Red & Artoria Pendragon | Lancer
Series: Mordred and Saberfaces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881649
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Mordred Lives a Life of Never-ending Misery ft. Turnabout, AKA Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

> you ever just,,, like a character,,, and hurt them,,,, for catharsis? yeah.
> 
> songs used are Who Killed Cock Robin? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GjGyLkGJBlI) and God Only Knows (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWPo5SC3zik) but please listen to them before or after reading bc the recordings don't match the tone of the fic  
> maybe just read, listen, then come back to reread if you feel like it okay this is too long do as thou wilt have fun!

Mordred was in pain, and surrounded by darkness.

Normally, she would have considered those thoughts to be bit much -- for once, though, it wasn’t about the ennui of being alive and surrounded by people she a) had killed, b) had been killed by, or c) wanted very badly to kill right now, in the present, rather than “process” her “feelings”.

No -- Mordred had been slated to help her Master kick some ass while grinding for materials. Sure, she wasn’t a Caster, and didn’t have any particular strength or resistance when it came to fighting Assassins, but there were enough Casters on the team to deal with them; she just needed to cut through Berserkers and the occasional Lancer. Shakespeare (who was decent support, but reminded her a little too much of Merlin for comfort) would even be there to boost her Noble Phantasm. 

A chance to work out some aggression, help out Master, and show up Casters? What could go wrong!?

She let out an exasperated sigh, and immediately winced as a spike of pain twisted into her side.

In fairness, only one thing _had_ gone wrong, and that had been an enemy version of Hassan of the Serenity. 

The real Serenity was a training partner, and probably one of the few Servants who might be inclined to call Mordred a friend, or vice versa, if they were forced to name their relationship one way or another. The way she used throwing daggers to generate critical stars was precise, and cool, and informative ~~because she was learning how to deal with poison in combat so it would never hurt her or someone close to her again~~ because she also had a skill that gave her C.Stars, and she definitely needed to improve there.

So while she was, y’know, _prepared_ for the purple-haired Assassin to sling a few projectiles across the field at her or maybe one of her teammates, she wasn’t prepared for them to cut through her armor like boiling water through a snow bank. She was thrown off by the strength of poison too, which not only made the knives more painful than she was expecting, but also the Servant’s Noble Phantasm that much more intense.

They had finished the mission and then Mordred had been bundled off to get medical care. She was covered in nicks, cuts, assorted bruises from other enemies that hadn’t healed while her constitution was fighting the poison, all of which _hurt_ when she moved in the slightest. 

A gash along her fingers where she had tried to deflect a dagger with her sword and an especially nasty wound as deep as a well in her left bicep meant she couldn’t two-hand Clarent and would be out of action for a hot minute, no two ways about it. 

Then there was the _really_ dangerous cut made between her ribs had fucked up her lungs in a big way, to the point where even breathing hurt, which meant that not only was she not allowed to fight, she was confined strictly to quarters for at least another day.

The one recurring thought that had been running through her mind on loop was that, _at least nobody else got hurt_ . It wasn’t much compared to feeling like her veins were on fire and having to sleep on top of her good arm because it didn’t hurt to lie down on. Matter of fact, she didn’t feel much of anything in it with it pinned beneath her pillow, but, again, this was the only comfortable way to sleep. She had limped into her room about three hours ago, pulled out her hair clip to let short, golden locks tumble freely around her shoulders, and spent a _long_ time finding a posture to sleep in that didn’t actively hurt.

She was just starting to drift off too, only half an hour ago -- and then the lights, which she made a point of keeping at a yellow hue and very, very dim to simulate candlelight, burnt out with a strangled squawking noise. She didn’t even think that the lights at Chaldea were capable of burning out, and yet… here she was in pitch black darkness.

Now, Mordred was a knight. She was as tough as they came, and she was pretty damn proud of herself. She never backed down and she didn’t scare easily… but she was trapped in her room, in pain, where it was dark and unable to do anything about it. She couldn’t fall asleep, and the only noise was her own panicky breathing, shallow and fast, and every time she managed to stop listening to her heart beating out of her chest she heard it and it made her start --

She scrunched her eyes and bit down her lip, hard enough to draw blood. It was bad. She was trapped in her room unable to do anything else but think about it, over and over again, like a broken record playing on loop in her head. It was dark, and cold, because pulling the covers up above her waist would have hurt to move and hurt to have on top of her, and she _didn’t know what to do._

Mordred felt her eyes well with tears. She let out a shaky breath and tried really hard to focus on literally anything else.

Mercifully, as though her guardian angel had finally decided to start doing their job, someone opened the door to her room, and blessed light flooded in. Mordred would have thrown open her eyes and lavished whoever it was in thanks for delivering her… but she couldn’t _bear_ to live with herself if it was just one of Chaldea’s staff, or especially Master or Mash coming to check up on her.

Pretending to be asleep, she opened one of her eyes just a crack, vision just clear enough to make out the distinct silhouette of the Servant in the doorway. They were tall and well-built, _definitely_ a woman if the chest was any indicator, and she was missing her left… arm.

Oh. It was her father.

... _shit_.

She really didn’t want to have anything to do with the Lancer right now, so she just pretended to be asleep and hoped that her father would do what she _normally_ did, and ignore her.

And then the door closed, plunging Mordred into darkness once again, and she had to resist the urge to sit up and shout “come back”.

Her father hadn’t left, though. Powerful footsteps made their way to her bedside, as if they were quieter for being slow and not just more awkward. The chair at the desk she never used scraped the floor as it was lifted, and it made noise for a moment when it was set down closer to her bed.

Mordred tried to guess what the fuck her father thought she was doing. She was… sitting down next to her, that much was clear. Was she going to try to talk to her? Because Mordred _really_ didn’t have the capacity to do that right now.

She nearly lunged out of bed when an armored hand rested itself on top of her head. Oh no, this was _much_ worse.

Artoria continued to tentatively comfort her, hand resting firmly as her thumb brushed through her loose hair. It wasn’t… bad? It was a whole lot better than suffering silently alone in the dark, but _God_ it was weird. The Lancer and her had been growing steadily closer, after she had received a crippling injury that hadn’t healed yet. Still, they _really_ weren’t on the “offer basic reassurance and comfort by each other’s bedside” level yet.

...Mordred realized that she wasn’t panicking any more. So, whatever. Her father could do as she liked; Mordred would still be steadfastly pretending to be asleep.

She heard Artoria shift in her seat, and was nearly so shocked that she forgot she wasn’t supposed to be awake.

“Who killed Cock Robin?” Her father paused, cursing silently at how warbly and unsteady her voice was, unsuited for singing. She cleared her throat before continuing. “‘I’, said the sparrow, ‘with my bow and arrow; I saw him die.’”

...her father was singing to her. Her father was singing a _lullaby_ to her, from the sound of things.

Maybe she was still suffering the effects of the poison, and in reality she was delirious and strapped to a gurney. Maybe she had died! It would explain what the _fuck_ was going on better than any rational though could.

Artoria kept singing, kept petting Mordred with her thumb. “All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, When they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin, When they hea~ard of the death o~of poor Cock Robin.”

...at least it was a pretty good song choice. Mordred only recognized it as a lullaby by instinct and the way it flowed gently, not from any songs she had heard in her childhood (not that she _heard_ many lullabies as a child, but regardless). The lyrics were also folksy and just grim enough to be… cool and interesting were _not_ the right words, but she didn’t feel treated as though she was a child. It was… inoffensive. Comforting, one might say.

“Who saw him die?” Artoria continued, rich, authoritative tones struggling to sound comforting. “‘I’, said the fly, ‘with my little eye, I saw him die.’”

It occurred to Mordred as her father sang the chorus again that the song choice was deliberate? It was a song about how “the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing” at the death of their friend. Was it… meant to be about her? (“When they hea~ard of the death o~of poor Cock Robin,” her father finished.) That really was too sweet. Mordred felt the tension in her eyelids ease up slightly, not having to force them shut any more.

“Who'll dig his --” She stopped to clear her throat again. “Who’ll -- wh-who will -- damn.”

Oh, no. Fuck. This was terrible again.

There was a long moment of silence, all the more dead for the sweet song that had been drifting through the air just a moment ago.

Artoria let out a shaky sigh, and withdrew her palm from Mordred’s head.

Her hand shot out to stop her before she knew what she was doing. Both women froze, utterly still.

Mordred tried to pass it off as something she did in her sleep, keeping her breathing slow and steady despite the pounding in her chest. It worked, miracle of miracles, because her father placed her hand back on her head and went back to idly stroking.

The two remained like that for a long time. Mordred wasn’t any closer to falling asleep, but she was breathing regular, and not in constant, shivering fear. Her father wasn’t trying to sing any more lullabies, and Mordred tried really, really hard not to think about how emotional and choked up Artoria had been earlier. This moment couldn’t last, but she wanted to enjoy it anyway.

After a while, her father shifted in her chair, and Mordred was afraid she would finally leave. Instead, she felt a body press into the side of the mattress, the notable body heat of another Servant radiating next to her. She resisted the urge to cuddle against her for warmth, and focused on not letting her breath catch in her throat.

Artoria began to sing again, another complicated tune that she struggled with.

“I may not always love you… but long as there are stars, above you; you never need to doubt it; I’ll make you so sure about it… God only knows what I’d be without yo~u…”

The Lancer shifted, moving her arm to the back of Mordred’s head in an awkward embrace, either not wanting to aggravate her injuries or pretending for both their sakes that she was still asleep. “And if you should ever leave me, though life would still go o- on, believe me,” she struggled with the high note there, “the world could show nothing to me; so what good would living do me? God only knows what I’d be without yo~u…”

The song trailed off, with Artoria humming the refrain now and again, running her fingers through Mordred’s hair. Mordred was sobbing now, eyes wide open and overflowing with tears. In the space of a half hour, she had been shown more tenderness and kindness than she had gotten from her father in decades of serving under her. E-even if it was just a stupid song, she had said that she would _love her_ , and be there for her, a-and, G-God…

Her body was wracked with silent sobbing, her father shushing her and pressing her forehead against her own, mumbling incoherent sweetness under her breath. She was so, _so_ warm, and kind, and Mordred was vulnerable and scared. She threw her injured arm around her shoulder, not caring anymore about the pain or pretending to be asleep, and let her aching limb rest on broad shoulders and the soft fur lining of her cape… 

…

It took a moment to realize that she had woken up. Her room was still dark, but the intensity of the white light flooding in from the hallway crept in just enough underneath the door to let her make out silhouettes. She could make out her father slumped over on the floor, head resting on the pillow beside her. Her face was inches from her own, too vague to really determine an emotion, but extremely comforting to Mordred nonetheless.

Mordred sighed, and struggled to roll over to free her fath-- nope, ow, ouch, fuck, bad idea, ow. If anything, her more serious injuries hurt more today than they did yesterday, and while she wasn’t _in_ pain, currently, the idea of movement that didn’t hurt her was on the same level of being able to fly.

She cleared her throat and whispered to Artoria. “Father… Father? Wake up father, now.”

The Lancer rumbled, but made no effort to wake up. If anything, she shifted closer to Mordred, rubbing her head against hers like a big, affectionate lion, chuffing in her sleep.

“Father, we need to wake up.” She waited, and predictably got no reply. A little louder, she said, “If you’re not up in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to take Rhongomyniad and proclaim myself king of Britain again. One, two, three, --”

“Mragh!” Her father jolted upright, making a very unkingly noise. Three seconds; pretty neat trick. “Ah, M-Mordred, good. You’re awake. You seemed… troubled last night. I hope you don’t mind that I… well, it’s just that you were so helpful during _my_ stage of injury, it would only be mete to return the favor…”

“Yeah, it’s cool. I, um, appreciate it,” she said casually, like it was no big deal. “Ah, y-you see, the lights kinda died last night in here, and obviously I can’t fix them.”

“ _What_.” Artoria responded with steel in her voice, plainly furious. She rose to her feet. “That’s unacceptable. After everything you went through, they didn’t give you a way to contact them?”

“Y-yeah, it was a little wack. Wasn’t having the best night of my life, haha.”

“This is no laughing matter. They knew you were going to be in pain, to find it hard to move.” She whirled around, her cloak billowing loudly. “I mean to give that woman and her staff a piece of my mind for not --”

“W-wait!” Mordred cried out, stopping her father in her tracks. “Listen… i-it’s not a big deal. I mean, I want it fixed as soon as possible,” she amended quickly, feeling her father ready herself to argue on behalf of Mordred’s well-being (which was _very_ gratifying). “I just really, really don’t want to be left alone right now. I-if you can flag someone down, or get someone to deliver a message to Mash, o-or even Fran… we can get them to bring us breakfast and fix the room, but I’d -- I-I’d really like it if you stayed with me.” Mordred sucked in a shaky breath at admitting her weakness so loudly.

“Of course, Mordred,” the Lancer answered easily, back to being gentle and caring again. “I’ll stay by your side as long as you’ll have me. I promise to be back in just a moment, okay?’

“...okay. Take your time. A-and… father? Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do, really.”

She felt heat creep up her neck. “N-no, I m-mean… thank you for, y’know… you know.”

There was a beat of silence. Artoria opened the door to let light flood in, and the small smile on her face was plainly illuminated for Mordred to see. “You’re welcome. I’ll be back in no time. Door open, or closed.”

“Open, please,” she managed to creak out.

Artoria bowed her head, and walked away.

Mordred slumped back into bed, exhausted. When her eyes fell shut, she drifted easily back into sleep, knowing she was safe and cared for.

**Author's Note:**

> mordred the next week: hey, poison girl! have you been using weaker poison during our training sessions!?  
> serenity: y-yes? because i don’t want you to die???  
> mordred: nahhhhh, i don’t accept that. you fight me with everything you got and if you die, i die, babe  
> serenity: … wh--  
> mordred: also, your, umm. noble phantasm. has a poison effect. i think you should use it more. on me.  
> serenity:  
> mordred, disaster lesbian:  
> mordred, disaster lesbian: ,,,i want you,,, to kiss me,,, if that’s--  
> serenity, touch-starved: yes that works for me let’s train right now


End file.
